


Enabling

by Janice_Lester



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: F/M, M/M, Shoes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-13
Updated: 2013-01-13
Packaged: 2017-11-27 00:52:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/656204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janice_Lester/pseuds/Janice_Lester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris has a thing for shoes. Zach has a thing for Chris's thing for shoes.  It's confusing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enabling

**Author's Note:**

> Originally intended to hit "oral fixation" and "leather latex rubber" as part of a simultaneous double line for 2012 [](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/profile)[kink_bingo](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/), and then modified to be a postage stamp, but just wouldn't cooperate and didn't get done in time. Silly. Includes OFC sex worker as walk-on sex object. Beta'd by [](http://vee-dub.livejournal.com/profile)[vee_dub](http://vee-dub.livejournal.com/).

 

“How was the photo-shoot?”

Chris blows a raspberry, then flings himself theatrically onto Zach’s poor innocent sofa. “Turns out they hired a model for me to pose with. Leggy, blonde, with those sweet little tits that—” he gestures, both hands cupped to his chest.

Zach nods as if he perfectly comprehends—and cares about—whatever mammary information Chris is trying to convey. This kind of conversation tends to proceed more smoothly when he doesn’t remind Chris of the dissimilarity of their frames of reference with regard to the female of the species.

“And oh my god, Zach, the _shoes_ they put her in! They started with the Blahniks and then some Jimmy Choo, but then there were Louboutins, three pairs! One after the other! And they kept saying ‘no, Mister Christopher, we want you to look _indifferent_ , please do not make love to the camera.’ Indifferent!” He makes a violent gesture with both arms which is apparently meant to convey the unreasonableness of the Herculean—nay, the simply impossible—feat these unfeeling photographic professionals had demanded of him. “I told them it was hard to look indifferent with such a beautiful woman in the room, and everyone snickered and the art director sent me off for some private time in my trailer.” His gesture for _that_ is much more readily comprehensible. “Which helped, but then I had to go back out there and she had on these black pumps with these little metal spikes and it was _so_ distracting.”

“There, there,” Zach says.

Chris eyes him suspiciously. “You’d better not be doing your secret Zach laugh.”

“I’m not,” Zach assures him, accepting on faith that there is such a thing. “Your birthday approaches, as I recall. I am, in fact, plotting sexual adventures.”

Chris brightens visibly. It’s almost painful to watch without sunglasses. “With shoes?”

“Oh, yes. Most definitely with shoes. And some spectacular example of feminine beauty to wear them, of course.”

Chris is up off the couch and across the room in seconds, and presently Zach has a lap full of skinny limbs and subtle leftover makeup scent. The following kiss attack would be difficult to repel, given its ferocity, but fortunately Zach is not so inclined.

***

Ms. Belladonna—not, Zach feels sure, her real name—appears to meet with Chris’s approval, if the way he’s eyeing her up and smiling his flirtatious smile is anything to go by. She’s a tall brunette with long blue fingernails and, as far as Zach can tell, her breasts are much the same size and shape as those of the model who appeared in the magazine shoot with Chris. Zach may lack Chris’s connoisseur’s knowledge of what maketh good breasts, but he can at least play Snap. He clears his throat.

“You two seem to be getting on all right. How about we move this to the bedroom?” He looks at the lady, instinctively wanting to be sure she’s okay with this. Which is foolish; she’s essentially an actor, too, she’s paid to look as if she’s having a good time regardless of whatever her own feelings may be. “I’ve got some shoes I’d like you to put on.”

“Sure,” she says cheerfully. “Is the dress okay?” She runs her hands down over her torso, which is tightly clad in something that looks a lot like latex.

Zach glances at Chris, who is virtually beside himself with enthusiasm. Chuckles. “I’d say so. Shall we?” He waves the two ahead of him.

“Oh, wow,” says Chris when he sees the shoes emerge from their fancy box, almost audibly salivating.

The lady is a lot more matter-of-fact, and Zach supposes that previous clients have probably dressed her in everything from polyester to diamonds. She perches on the edge of the bed, slips off her own heels, pulls on the Louboutins. They appear to fit well, and Zach breathes a sigh of relief. He did ask her for her shoe size before he made the booking, but that was no guarantee when sizing seemed to vary so much between brands, not to mention countries of origin.

“Okay,” she says, rising. She wobbles only slightly. “Where do you want me?”

“Um, could you—” Chris stops to clear his throat. “Could you please walk up and down a bit?”

“Sure thing, honey. Why don’t you get comfortable?”

“Good plan,” Chris agrees. But instead of sitting on the bed, he drops down onto the floor where he stretches out on his stomach, props his chin up on his hands, and proceeds to admire the shoes from their own level.

Up and down goes Ms. Belladonna, up and down. And up. And down. Chris’s blue eyes eagerly track the progress of the shoes.

“I think you should kiss the shoes,” Zach suggests, when it starts looking like Chris could well spend the entire hour watching the lady’s feet while she walks up and down, relishing the flashes of red from the famous lacquered soles.

“Oh, man. Could I?”

“They’re bought and paid for, idiot. You could eat them if you wanted.”

Chris gives an offended squeak, apparently on behalf of the shoes, turns on his side to glare up at Zach.

“Chill, honey,” says Belladonna, stopping to strike a magazine-worthy pose. “He’s just saying, the shoes are yours. Enjoy them however you want.”

Chris nods slowly. Then he gets up onto his hands and knees, crawls forward as reverently as if he’s been invited to kiss the Pope’s ring. Zach watches, fascinated, as he lowers himself down, wraps one trembling hand around Ms. Belladonna’s right ankle, and drops his head to kiss first her skin and then the leather. Watching, Zach finds himself oddly aroused. Not in the sense that it’s odd to be aroused by the sight of Chris Pine, because it isn’t. It’s just that he isn’t used to feeling so… ambivalent about that fact. As if part of him thinks getting a hard-on now is somehow inappropriate.

“You’re so beautiful,” Chris moans.

Belladonna’s gaze pops up to find Zach, and she frowns, clearly unsure whether the compliment was for her or the shoes. He shrugs, because he doesn’t know either, though he has his suspicions. Chris _really_ likes shoes. And women in shoes. If Chris’s publicists would allow it, he’d probably try to start a foundation with the charitable mission to ensure all the underprivileged women of the world were provided with impractical luxury shoes.

“I’m just going to leave you four alone,” Zach decides. “Sing out if you need me.”

“Love you,” Chris is saying, “loveyouloveyouloveyouloveyouloveyou,” but Zach is no more confident than he was before that his lover isn’t addressing the shoes.

***

“You didn’t have to leave last night,” Chris says. “I mean, we could have done stuff.”

Zach has long since given up insisting he be more specific. “That would have felt weird.” He sighs at Chris’s wounded expression. “No, I don’t mean—I just mean, it felt like a really special time for you. You didn’t need me complicating that. Another time, though, we could totally—”

“Yeah,” Chris says. “Another time. So, dinner?”

Zach frowns but doesn’t push it.

***

In the weeks that follow, Zach researches and learns a great deal about high-end women’s footwear, about the women who wear it, and about the surprisingly large portion of the population who consider such footwear an object of lust of one sort or another. And, while he doesn’t manage to _acquire_ the fetish itself, he does come to understand and appreciate it a good deal better.

If he does, at one point, measure his right foot and compare its dimensions with a European women’s shoe sizing chart, it’s purely out of academic curiosity. Well, that and some vague pondering about how Chris would look if Zach wore the shoes for him.

Eh, probably too much trouble to learn to walk in the things. He does have a dance background, but in cases such as these that may be more hindrance than help, because it means he has a good idea just how completely he could fuck up important ligaments, joints, and other essentials in a dreadful heel-related accident. And as sex-positive as his doctor is, he’d hate to have to explain that one to her.

***

Chris opens his present Christmas morning as if he really hasn’t guessed it’s shoes. Well, he rips open the wrapping paper, anyway. The instant he recognises the logo on the box he sets it carefully aside to pounce on Zach with a very enjoyable mix of enthusiasm and horniness.

***

There is a photo in Zach’s private online photo hosting account that could, he feels sure, enjoy a very successful run in a major international advertising campaign for Christian Louboutin. It shows Chris Pine caught in an unguarded moment, sitting cross-legged on the floor of their house. He’s surrounded by shopping bags and discarded tissue paper, and he’s holding a royal blue pump with a slight platform sole to his lips. He looks somewhat smitten and completely, genuinely, wholeheartedly happy. Zach’s actually a little jealous of that fortunate shoe.

The picture, of course, is a secret, even from Chris. Zach’s having a hard time feeling ashamed of himself over snapping it, however.

Mainly, he’s been wondering just how many pairs of women’s shoes Chris has to add to his collection before he has to recognise that at least one of them—Chris with his thing for shoes, or Zach with his thing for Chris having a thing for shoes—has a problem here.

“Zach?” Chris calls.

Zach looks up from the script he really hasn’t been reading. “Yes?”

Chris is standing in the living room doorway, wearing his pyjamas and holding a Prada slingback Zach had always thought was rather clumpy. “You coming to bed?”

“Is the shoe coming to bed?”

Always before, Chris has ducked his head and said no, and Zach has held back complaints about the tragedy of squashing one’s passion. Tonight, however, Chris straightens, squares his jaw. “Yeah,” he says. “She is. That a problem?”

Zach smiles, rises from the couch. He has some very stimulating ideas about things he can do to the charming Christopher while he is fondling what is to him a sort of erotic sculpture. “Not at all, Chris.” He skips across the room, throws his arms around his lover. “Not at all.”

Chris huffs out a sigh of relief, shifts the shoe safely out of harm’s way, and offers himself up for a kiss.

 

***END***


End file.
